She and McLaren, Plus One
by The-Music-of-hands
Summary: Elena has personal issues to work out, and as always, Rude and his car are always there to support her. -Elena-Rude-


_**She and McLaren (Plus One)**_

_"Who needs kids when you've got a car?" -TMoh_

**__________________________________________________________________________________________________________**

From the very first time, she'd been interested.

He was calm, cool, collected, everything that the _other_ was not. His face was worn, hands tired, yet strong when they needed to be. His voice always came out as a low guttural growl, scraping across his lips with a certain fluidity that only he could really retain with that rough sandpaper edge to his accent. His teeth were straight, she had noticed with little scrutiny, and his skin, though dark, wasn't flawless like one would like to imagine. There were a patch of criss-crossing scars to the left of his jaw, running from the scissor sharp chin, to the angled dip where neck met jaw and stubble. He also had a small curved pinkish scar close to his eyes, plunging down from his eyebrow to the feathered tips of his lashes. She'd stare, and then realize that every time he blinked, his full lashes would brush at the mark, as if trying to hide a secret.

She came to notice that he and secrets were best friends, and there really wasn't a way to get them away from him without facing some sort of mumbled death threat on his part. Not that she'd really minded, she was a mine of secrets, not that anyone really knew, because she was just a _kid_ to them, even though time after time she exasperatedly repeated her birthday and age. Twenty-five next month, twenty, five years ago.

And to that, they'd ruffle her hair and grin while shuffling through the oh-so-important-paperwork-can't-possibly-spare-time-to-talk-right-now. They didn't know that three years prior she'd been helping out the enemy behind their backs, giving them snippets and clues, and they most definitely didn't know that she was pregnant.

In fact, she'd only noticed the day before, when she'd been exercising earlier that morning. She'd sat down afterwards to have a cup of tea, and when she settled herself on her knees, there was a ruffling little thump in her belly, and a tiny fluttering in her heart, and then suddenly as pictures of that-one-night-nobody-speaks-of, appeared, she knew.

Of course, it was a bit of a shock, but she'd learned well enough to not panic like those _other_ women did, so she had done the next best thing: she went to the bar.

Really, it wasn't like she was going to drink, what with the baby and all—it was _incredible_ really, the way she spoke of _it_ like she'd known it was there for years instead of for a day. But she could say that somewhere in her stomach, there was someone _she _helped create, and there was this tiny bit of attachment, not to mention a plausible euphoria that the thought of having a baby created. The only thing she really worried about though was the _father_, who was long dead.

He'd been nice enough, she supposed, all roses and coffee shops, with dresses and nightly walks on the beach. Then, of course, after they'd been, well, after they'd been _doing it_ for a month or so, he'd shown his true colors, and tried to assassinate her. Again, the men in black, so to speak, came ardently to her rescue and shot two holes, one in the heart, and one on the forehead, because they were her friends and they loved her not her lovers. She'd never thought of that one night—because they were too drunk to even think about rubbers—again and for weeks had brushed it off, never really thinking about the lack of protection or regular periods, because she'd never really had the time. But a month afterwards, here she was, slumped in a depressing arch over the booth where she usually reserved her seats.

It was further away from the smoke, and even further from prying eyes. Her heart jumped in a nervous little twitter at the thought that she was actually going to have a _baby, _and in a motion she felt she knew for since forever, her left palm carefully splayed itself over her stomach. It was still flat, but in weeks, she knew it would blow up, and then she'd either have to run again like she always did, or face up and bare the truth, even if it did drill holes in her teeth. Her friends at least deserved to know.

Then the dreaded thought came to mind. What would her Boss say?

'_He'll kill me…totally annihilate what little life I have left to live… Lock me up, shut me down…"_

She'd unconsciously raised her free hand, as if motioning for a waitress and just as suddenly as she had lifted it, a large hand pulled it down to her side, and she was face to face with the greenest eyes she'd ever seen. Her mouth dropped down, and her left hand wrapped itself tighter around her skinny waist.

His sunglasses were folded and tucked neatly into his coat pocket, and while one of his hands rested on the edge of the table, the other was gripping a leather brief case with knuckles that looked like they could knock a man's head off with one swipe. His voice, as usual, was low and though he probably hadn't meant for it to come out that way, it sounded almost poisonous, aired with deadly venom she never knew he could have.

"What are _you_ doing _here_?"

She drew both hands into her lap, looking at the stack of napkins and twisting her fingers together, before untwisting them awkwardly. Her voice, drowned out by the rumbling music, was still wavering, her cheeks pale and nervous. "I…um…thinking…"

He settled himself on the booth across from her, placing the briefcase down on the floor before lifting one eyebrow, waving the buzzing waiter away with his right hand. "About…?"

She drew in a quick breath, focusing on the thin pink line of his newest scar, located right on his neck, a little to the left of his Adam's apple. Somehow, it was getting harder and harder to breathe…

"I was just, um, thinking about how I'm…"

He reached for a napkin, coughing briefly into it before crumpling it and letting it roll to the side. His eyes weren't large, but they weren't small, and in a small momentary thought, she noticed that they were the most beautiful things she had seen all evening. He offered with small flick of his fingers towards her mid-section, a small smirk twitching on the edges of his lips, eyes remaining impassive. "About how you're _pregnant_?"

The edges of his suit were growing fuzzy, and in the distance, she could clearly hear the burbled word '_pregnant'_ come out of his lips, before she stared in open mouthed awe. In a very atypical yet, somehow so characteristically _her,_ moment, the rumbling music came to the screaming highlight, and she fainted dead away.

He'd seen her slump over the table and then, with a small unheard chortle, he grabbed the brief case in one hand, and then, with carefully planned maneuvering, managed to get her in a semi safe position in the crook of his arms. She wasn't heavy at all, and if her hands wouldn't have been clutched so tightly at her stomach, and the way she kept looking down at the small strip of skin showing, he wouldn't have been able to tell if she was pregnant or not. He just paid attention to his surroundings, that was all, and, he earned some pretty good gossip material and other things. He been careful not to dump her into the passenger seat of his newest garage addition, and then walked to the other side when seated, clicking open his case and carefully scrawling in paperwork while he waited for her to wake up. When she did, she took one look at the thin leather seats, at the sleek black finish, and almost fainted again, this time in a glorified sprawl. She took a deep breath, looked straight at him, and in a small meek voice, asked the question.

"Is this your car?"

He carefully—like he was with everything else—folded the newspaper he had been reading after the paperwork had been finished, and look straight back, all facial expression detached.

"Yes."

"A…A…you're…" She attempted to finish, her mouth hanging open in awe like a fish waiting for food. It was amazing, it was beautiful, it was _here_, it was _his_, and goddamn _she_ was in _it_!

"The McLaren F1, with black leather, air conditioning, and custom comforts." He sounded proud, exactly the way she imagined a father would sound like, bragging about his baby.

It was the most she had ever heard him say, never mind about his car, it was just beautiful the way he talked, in that low velvet tone, full of fondness. She breathed a deep sigh of disbelief before sinking back into the seat, her hand resting against her belly, while the other traced patterns in the leather.

"It's…amazing."

"I know."

For the next ten minutes, he resumed to the newspaper, occasionally looking at her from over the edge, while she flipped the air vents back and forth, biting her lip apprehensively. He wasn't intimidating, but now the secret was out—and for holy's sake, it had only been just a day—so, she didn't know whether to open the door and make a break for it, or sit it out under the roof of his magnificent car. She cautiously looked at the deep forest green of his eyes, and the smooth tanned skin on his neck. She sighed. Obviously, she chose the latter. It was better for her health; she snuck another quick glance at him before tracing invisible circles into the soft leather, and of course, for her eyesight as well.

Only such a gloriously dazzling car could have such a good-looking owner, and in her eyes it was pure, unadulterated heaven, right there. The crisp folding of paper brought her out of a daydream including him, her, of course the car, and a midnight drive through the country. _'Sometimes, I think Reno's right… I am getting a little too far ahead of myself…'_

"Have you known for long?"

She mumbled slowly, once again fumbling with her hands, staring straight at the coarse fabric of her black dress pants.

"Just since yesterday morning…"

"Did you take a test?"

She started, pushing him away as she scrambled to the edge of the seat, her ears burning a furious shade of red.

"L-like I'd tell you that, it's none of your business!" (In reality, she hadn't, she'd just assumed, because of the flutter in her stomach.)

He slipped his sunglasses back on, sighing deeply as he turned the key in the ignition, face still calm and blank. His suit was still stiff and starched, and he sat rod straight in the seat. His mouth wasn't exactly turned down into a grimace, but it still wasn't a smile either. "I apologize; I did not mean to offend…"

"I-its okay, not your fault I'm so spastic..." she looked around, pulling the seat belt over her chest as the car lurched forward, careening smoothly over the pavement. "And, plus it's these stupid hormones, you know? It's like one minute I'm depressed, and then, wham! There's your magnificent car and of course with _you_ in it, and well, that's like total _heaven_ to a girl like me. And of course I rant; I mean pregnant women tend to do that right? You understand…the car and _you_…?" She slapped both hands over her mouth, turning around swiftly to look out the window, only to have her face collide with a loud thump against the cool glass. She let her cheek slide down with a whine. She was thinking about just opening the door and making a break for it, but then the car stopped for a moment at a stop light and there was a very large, very warm and very _him_, hand on her shoulder, rubbing it tensely. "I understand…"

She turned around, eyebrow lifting in an insubstantial arch.

"You do?"

The look on her face confused him, in fact, if he didn't know better; he would've thought it was mocking in a way. But, she was just asking a simple question… Or was she?

"Sure?"

She grinned, obviously back to her energetic self, now playing with the seat buttons. She squealed when it lurched forward, almost hitting the dashboard before he calmly pressed another button, halting the process. She breathed a sigh of relief before giggling.

"You totally understand what it's like to be pregnant? For real?"

Hitting the breaks with a squeal, he blanched as the sudden motion flung her forward and his sunglasses under his feet. His arm flipped in front of her to stop her chest from once again smashing into the dashboard, as the engine whined down.

"No. I can _never_ be pregnant. Understand?"

She counted on her fingers, smiling that obnoxious smirk before resting her head on the side of his arm, sighing happily. "You can't get pregnant, which means you're obviously a man…correct…?"

He cringed, slightly pushing her off of him, before parking to the side and pulling the keys out, dispassionately unbuckling his seat belt.

"Correct."

She followed him out of the car, scampering after him in a flurry of clicks and little scraping noises coming from her shoes. Her loose uniform was a thin black jacket, and loose but form fitting dress pants, starched into instantaneous submission. She frowned as he pressed the arrow on the elevator, his eyebrows knitted together either in frustration, annoyance, or embarrassment. Which she highly doubted was the latter, because, well, he really never preformed any normal human activities at work, including heightened emotions.

He never really talked to her much, in fact it was usually his red headed partner that did all the talking in her group, and it seemed that the two most talkative people—her and Reno—were paired with the most emotionally constipated men she had ever seen—Tseng and of course _him._

Not that she was complaining though, quiet, cryptic men had always been kind of her thing, and she'd had a little girl crush on her own partner for her first beginning years before she realized he had it in for that skinny little ninja chick from Wutai. Now the other one however—_him_—didn't seem to have an interest in human beings, or really anything besides cars, which she knew for some time, and coffee, double shot mocha with mint. She knew what he liked. Which, in its own way was sort of disturbing, but still, she had run errands for him and Reno when Tseng was out of commission, and those two, boy, did they love their coffee.

"Would you like some tea when we get there?"

She jumped, looking at him as they stood in the rising elevator, and then staring at the fake rubber potted plant with such a look of fierce concentration, he wondered for a moment if she was just drunk. Then she nodded her head, humming a content melody, before swaying back and forth to the choppy elevator music, a cheesy smile widening her cheeks. She wasn't drunk; she was supposed to be pregnant…wasn't she?

He shook his head, before slipping the glasses into his pocket, digging around for a flat plastic key card.

He didn't know what pregnancy was supposed to be like…he supposed that girls that were expecting, behaved the way she was acting at the moment…

'_But…she always acts like that…'_ he argued with himself, risking another glance at her as she closed her eyes, humming along to the new pop song that was whispering in the quiet rumble of the elevator. Ten seconds of silence, and she hated to break it, but she felt like at least _something_ needed to be said, or else she'd probably _die…_

"I…uh, I always knew you were a guy and all, Rude. I mean, you're bald and buff, and you have that McLaren out there… I was just...a dork..."

"I know, Elena, I know…"

He sighed, rolling his eyes, the elevator door singing a solitary note as the doors opened with a cheerful jingle. She pranced out, holding her hands behind her back as she grinned widely at him.

"So, where's home, huh?"

"Fourteen."

"Ah…not one for unlucky numbers, huh? I mean I always thought that thirteen was an unlucky number and all, so I realize that you probably think so too, but then again…"

He groaned, blocking the rest of her conversation out as he fumbled with the card, swiping it in the slot before opening the door, holding it open as she continued talking. She walked through, mouth opening and closing like his goldfish before it had died. He closed the door, cleared his throat. She continued, unaware that anything _besides_ her conversation was there.

What was wrong with this girl? She was pretty, she was slim…she liked cars… _'That's an added bonus…' _he thought, but holy almighty, could she talk.

"So…what do you think about that idea, huh Rude?"

"…It's…interesting…"

He really had no idea what was interesting, but, he had to say something or else she'd burst out into a pregnant temperamental fit, or some kind of ritual that pregnant ladies did when they just found out they were going to have a baby.

He had no idea. So, he'd made it up.

Apparently, though, from her little chirps of approval, he'd said something that he was expected to say, so at least he was okay in that area. He did the next best thing, which was introduce her to his bedroom, sit her down on his huge four poster bed with a bunch of magazines, a cup of tea, and then, with a thankful sigh, rush out of the apartment to grab a few items from the grocery store.

Five of which were various brands and types of pregnancy tests.

As he walked back to his car, he nursed his ego somberly, recapping the nurse's surprised look as a rough man like _him_ shyly shuffled up to the counter and asked for one of each of their pregnancy tests. She'd given him five packets, winking flirtatiously before commenting to the other awed lady—and what seemed to be partially to him—that she'd have his babies any day.

Just the thought of little bald and blonde assassins running around his apartment with miniature Uzi Rifles, gave him a light head, and a completely unnecessary category three migraine. He had not wanted to imagine it. So he'd mumbled several hurried thanks and had rushed like a cat to milk to the liquor section, where he'd spent at _least _two hundred dollars on various alcohols.

Later, when Elena was asleep, he'd need it, or else he'd have to vacate the apartment. She was a danger to his mental system. In fact, she had been for the last year and a half, when last Christmas at the annual party, she'd caught him under the mistletoe and had planted a rather sloppy kiss to the left of his lips.

It still had been a sort of kiss though…

When he got to the apartment, and mumbled a quiet greeting, she'd barreled out of his bedroom in only one of his large dress shirts, a pair of his slippers, and the large dark blue bath robe he'd gotten along with the promotion. She'd been rummaging through his fridge—which somehow, he had expected—and had gotten a hold on the chocolate covered strawberries, as a dark chocolate speck of evidence was clearly showing on the tip of her nose.

"These are for you…to be sure…"

He roughly shoved the bag in her arms as she stood trying to think of a way to logically respond, and before she could even see him blush, he scuffled off to the living room, a newspaper in hand.

She then took the initiative to use his bathroom for the next hour, peeing on strips and waiting for two minutes.

Twenty minutes later, almost to the point of tears, she threw the fourth one away and impatiently ripped the fifth one open. "This one had better be positive…" she growled, glaring at the stick-like monstrosity as if it was going to rear up and bite. Three minutes later, and all of them negative, she dropped to her knee's and buried her face in the miles of Rude's shirt, occasionally moving so that the buttons didn't go up her nose, or get caught in her teeth.

Then she realized the date.

It was a week before her monthly period… She hadn't even missed one, actually…because it came every month.

So that meant…that she was…

She groaned, wildly gripping her blonde hair between her fingers and tugging.

"I was just PMS-ing…"

When she stumbled out of the bathroom fifteen minutes later, face puffy and red from tears, she took one look at him sitting there perfectly comfortable on the rocking chair and launched herself spectacularly into the direction of the the couch. And then, taking a head start, rammed into it with a loud bang as his coffee table fell over in the process. Her overly theatrical wails pierced through the air, and he dropped his newspaper. What. The. Hell?

Was she really pregnant? Is that what this was all about? Rude wasn't sure if he wanted to find out, or there was always the jump out the window open. He saw her howling, and then decided for that it probably would be best if he stayed.

_'Damn...'_

He slowly walked over, sitting down besides her and pulling her awkwardly into a half hug as he muttered into her hair. Suddenly, she wrapped both arms tightly around his torso, effectively soaking a good fourth of his white shirt. The one he was wearing, for the one on her was already wet.

"Shh, Elena…it's…okay…"

She sobbed harder into his shirt. "No! It's not okay, Rude! I thought I was _pregnant_, I mean… I thought I was going to have a baby… and I'm not! I'm not going to have a baby… Never, ever, ever, as long as I live…! And now I have nothing! _Nothing_, you hear me? _Absolutely Nothing!"_

Inwardly, he instantly breathed a sigh of relief, and let a small smile pull at his cheeks and then in a rush, the relief left as he felt her hacking harsh wails into his chest, twice as hard as before. Bewildered, he frantically looked around the room for something that would have a calming effect of a very emotional, PMS-ing women. Coffee…no... Bubble bath…No… He saw the key ring with the full set of keys lying on the floor from where it had slipped off the coffee table.

"Shh…Elena…you have the McLaren…" He couldn't believe he was doing this, practically giving his _car_ to _her_. But, he really didn't know what else to do with her. It had worked, nevertheless. And she looked up to him, still sniffling but luckily not screaming. Her voice was shaky, but hopeful, and he almost smiled.

"R-really, like…for real?"

Her nose was bright red, and her cheeks were apple pink flushed, but, she was still kind of pretty, and, well… _'She just grows on you…'_ he reckoned silently to himself, and she sat, still kind of in his lap.

He leaned in closer, forehead leaning against hers, sunglasses forgotten somewhere in his jacket pocket. He noticed, she was smiling, but she still didn't look totally content, and her face was flushed, and were her hands around his neck now? _'What more could this girl want besides my __**car**__?'_ he thought anxiously, staring at her as if she had a disease.

Her smile was still there, and her eyes were hopeful and almost to the point where they looked kittenish. What was it she wanted?

Her arms tightened just a bit around his neck, and then he realized with a start. _'Oh. _Oh…_'_

Yeah.

He could do that.

"You have the McLaren…" he stated quietly as he heard her sigh, still sniffling dramatically.

"Yeah?"

He chortled lightly, choosing to wrap one arm around her waist, putting the other on the back of her head. "Yeah… and…you have…"

She laughed, bringing him just that much closer, her lips ghosting over his, "I have…you…right?"

He sounded relieved, "Yeah."

_

* * *

_

A/N

_Oh, you don't know how long i've wanted to do something with Rude, Elena, and a McLaren F1. It's like, it was a calling. Anyway, there isn't enough Rude/Elena out there, so, go them!_

_Plus, everyone is so angsty, and I needed a bit of cheesy goodness to lift the spirits. _

_Besides that, The McLaren F1 truly is a car worth drooling over. Ah...._

_Anyway, feedback's always such a babe,_

_Until next time,_

_TMoh_


End file.
